Mutant Enemy Television, Inc. owns Buffy the Vampire Slayer. My use is in no way meant to challenge any established copyrights. This piece is not intended for any profit on the part of the writer, nor is it meant to detract from the commercial viability of the aforementioned, or any other, copyright. Any similarity to any events or persons (either real or fictional) is unintended.

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III - Don't Be Afraid of the Dark

Willow walked slowly down a spiral staircase, breathing in the musty, sour-smelling air. How did I get here? she asked herself. Something seemed strangely familiar. She felt as if she was back in the old high school, but the surroundings seemed all wrong. It actually looked as if she was in an old Victorian home.

A faint breeze blew past her face, and she instinctively looked for an open window that could have been the source. She found none. All of the windows were boarded up, the spaces between various planks only wide enough to allow thing slivers of light to come into the otherwise dark room. Willow knew it should probably be too dark for her to see anything at all, despite the sparse light, but didn't dwell on the thought too much. Her surroundings still concerned her more than her vision did.

She continued to walk down a long hallway, finally coming to a door. When she opened it, she found a library, lit only by a single candle. The young witch walked into the room and looked around, reading some of the titles. Curious George and Clifford the Big Red Dog next to Jane's Warships and Plato's Republic? Willow wondered silently. What kind of library is this? Haven't they ever heard of the Dewey Decimal System? She continued to look at the bindings of books on the shelves when she began to hear a faint noise. It sounding like a dripping faucet, though somehow different. The sound was thicker, more like a splat than a drip, and its eerie familiarity made the hair on the back of Willow's neck start to stand on end.

Willow looked around the room again and tried to pinpoint the sound. It was coming from a corner, but the only thing there was a large bookshelf with only three books. She couldn't see a faucet anywhere near there. Willow walked toward the shelf slowly, her breathing shallowing out and her heart beating faster with every half step. Her fingertips started to tingle, and she could start to feel the blood flowing through her veins. Every one of her senses was focused as much as possible as Willow gazed at the shelf while also keeping herself alert for an attack from any direction. Splat. The noise continued with no obvious source. Splat. Willow shuddered as a chill went straight through her, making her feel as if someone had just walked over her grave. Splat. She stopped and closed her eyes for a moment, trying to focus her nerve. She thought back to earlier days, in high school, before she spent her time reading about witchcraft. Her love then had been for science fiction, and familiar words from a favorite book came rushing into her mind – I must not fear. Fear is the mind-killer. Fear is the little-death that brings total obliteration. I will face my fear. I will permit it to pass over me and through me. And when it has gone past I will turn the inner eye to see its path. Where the fear has gone there will be nothing. Only I will remain.

I can do this, she told herself again and again. Her calm began to return to her, and once again she took a half step toward the corner. Splat. The noise went right through her, but Willow ignored it. She reminded herself of the horrors she had seen – the Master, Angelus, the Mayor. It all came rushing back to her, and suddenly she found it silly that she would be afraid of a little noise in a dark corner. Splat. Her heart jumped again, but she continued on. She would not be overcome by her fear of simple shadows. She would save her fear for something worthwhile – like the bogeyman that might be lurking in the shadow.

She reached the shelf and saw a liquid dripping off of it, and knew from its thick consistency that it wasn't water. Blood, she knew before even examining it. She looked at the books, and noticed immediately that they were the same three she had been perusing in Giles' shop earlier that night. Splat, the blood dripped off the shelf once again, this time landing on her shoe. It was then that Willow caught a familiar scent. "Tara?" she asked, turning around. Her lover was nowhere to be seen.

In horror she turned back to the shelf and looked down at the blood. She dipped the tip of her index finger into the ooze, and lifted it to her nose. Rather than the uncomfortably familiar, metallic, coppery odor she had always associated with blood, she caught the familiar scent of Victoria's Secret Rapture, the perfume that Tara always wore. Willow reeled backwards and tripped over an obstacle that had been unseen in the shadows that fell across the floor. When Willow landed, she bounced, ever so slightly, and rubbed her elbow against Tara's shoulder.

With a deep, shuddering breath she realized she was back in bed, awake from her nightmare and safe next to her friend. Tara also awoke with a start, looking at Willow strangely.

"Oh, you're alive," Willow muttered through sleepy eyes, laying her head back down and almost immediately breathing easily, drifting back to sleep.

"What?" Tara asked, looking over her red-haired companion uneasily. Unlike Willow, she found herself totally awake, her heart pounding away in her chest.

"I thought you were dead," Willow mumbled as she draped her arm over Tara's waist. Willow was back asleep in moments, but Tara lay awake for the rest of the night. It was bad enough that she had dreamt that she had found Willow's blood dripping from a bookshelf in an old home, but then Willow had awakened and muttered that she had dreamt of Tara's death. The coincidence tugged at Tara through the darkness, and silently the blonde witch began to wonder if Anya's warning had been right.

To be continued..................................